


The Unlikely Chosen Ones

by BloodyGelPens



Category: Ash vs Evil Dead (TV), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Evil Dead (Movies), Evil Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Backstory, Chance Meetings, Crossover, Demonic Possession, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Tension, Strangers to Lovers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyGelPens/pseuds/BloodyGelPens
Summary: Buffy saved the world, again. But now she's found herself the pawn of an ancient demon trying to settle its beef with her paternally inflicted watcher and a migraine personified in Michigan. Caught between a rock and hard place yet again, the slayer attempts to survive the 90s again and to not fall in love in the process.
Relationships: Buffy Summers/Ash Williams
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of the mentioned properties. The plotbunnies arrived and I complied. I hatched this in my head and was honestly shocked that their is so little stuff out their with these two. I decided to change this. Also Bash/Affy might be my OTP now? Who's to say.

Soundtrack

 **Future Starts Slow –** The Kills

 **When the Levee Breaks –** Led Zeppelin

 **Trouble’s Coming –** Royal Blood

 **Glory and Gore –** Lorde

 **What Kind of Man** – Florence and the Machine

 **Basket Case –** Green Day

 **I’m On Fire –** Bruce Springsteen

 **When You Die** – MGMT

 **My Type** – Saint Motel

 **Animal** – Def Leppard

 **Common Man** – Caamp

 **Damn These Vampires** – The Mountain Goats

**Spring, 2013**

All chaos had broken out as the world literally burned to a crisp around her. The blonde sullenly wondered how many times she’d have to die in order to save this doomed planet. At a ripe 35 years old Buffy Summers had seen the apocalypse approximately four times.

Maybe it is was five. Or even six. She’d stopped counting long ago. It didn’t matter anymore. What did was that she made it to this cabin in the Tennessee woods before Earth imploded around her. She’d send these demons back to hell before they cracked the planet in half like a walnut.

The Prius she’d stolen back at a gas station bounced over the upturned roots of the many trees. Debris pelted her windshield as she struggled down the dirt road. The cabin grew closer in the distance.

 _Not much farther to go._ The disgruntled slayer floored as soon she saw a clear road ahead. Bridging the final gap to her infinite heroism was getting closer. Grabbing the decaying book of the dead, her eyes drifted to the Necronomicon Ex Mortis.

It’s crude face glowed red before Buffy found herself being hurled through the windshield. Body aching from impact, the slayer saw a thick root that had been freshly pushed through the fresh soil. She’d surely sprained her ankle possibly cracked a rib.

It could’ve been worse. She just had to get into the cabin and read the incantation. She hoped she heard it correctly. Giles had whispered it as he lay dying in her arm. His neck had been sliced during the struggle against the undead. She’d promise him she’d take the evil artifact and fix this all

Grabbing for the book, she found nothing.

“Where are you, you icky thing?” Writhing in pain, she rolled onto her stomach. The book was about 20 feet away. The ground began to rumble like a creature was pulsing through a tunnel. The blonde pushed herself to her feet, wobbling her way to the book.

Plucking it from the ground, a sentient root whipped its way through the ground. Avoiding that nightmare, the slayer pushed her body through the pain. There was searing spasms up her leg as she climbed the porch. 

She was pleased to find the door ajar, making her job easier. There wasn’t much time as the ground began to crack itself apart outside. Grabbing the chalk out of her purse she began to draw the grid out on the wooden floor.

The more precisely drawn combated the Kanderian demons more effectively.

At least, that’s what Giles always said.

The gnarled floorboards were coated in symbols and phrases in Latin as Buffy poured Morton’s salt around her in the center. Tossing the container away when she felt protected, the woman sank to the floor. She drew the last items she needed from her bag.

By one foot she placed a chunk of black tourmaline, a piece of carnelian at the other. Setting the tome in her lap, Buffy used a match to set a piece of Palo Santo aflame. The book instantly opened itself to the page she needed.

“This is for you, Ripper,”

And for Willow, Xander, Dawn, Oz, Anya. All of them. Hot tears ran down her face as she prepared to recite the incantation.

“Klaatu.”

The shutters on the windows closed in an instant as the cellar door began to open. Glassy blue eyes shot to the far corner of the room. The decaying corpse of a woman darted at her only to hit the salt circle as though she’d ran into a glass pane.

Maniacally, the undead monster began to waggle her rotted tongue at the woman.

“All your friends are dead! None left alive! Soon you’ll join them! Soon you’ll join them!” She sang in a childish voice. Another corpse crawled out of the cellar. Buffy cleared her throat beginning the incantation.

“Klaatu. Verata. Nikto.” She screamed the words until she had ripped a clear hole in the fabric of time and space. Nothing had prepared her for this. It was a black hole, sucking in everything evil and distorted.

Hosting herself to her feet, Buffy projected her voice above the howls and whirs of the wind around her.

“KLAATU. VERATA. NIKTO.” Her chest burned. She was sure she’d black out from the pain. Instead, the woman screamed as the world around her swam, distorted. It felt like a fever dream.

Buffy screamed, a wild sound not unlike that of a lion trying to protect her young. Buffy screamed for humanity, to restore it. Someway, somehow.

And then it all just stopped. The howling winds ceased, the shutters opened. Outside, the world was normal. It was as if it had never been on the verge of the apocalypse, let alone mere seconds ago.

But the cabin was empty and Buffy Summers nowhere to be found.

~~~~~

**Autumn 1996**

It was a slow day at the Eastview S-Mart. Not that it was even busy on a Sunday afternoon. It was a small town that bordered Grand Rapids: most residents took the Lord’s Day seriously and rested, only leaving the house after mass for emergencies.

Ash, of course, thought that was just a crock of shit. Sounded more like an excuse to be lazy. Already an hour and a half late, he took his time stocking in housewares. Some cheesy Halloween serving trays cropped up in the box.

“Cute,” he whispered to himself, rolling his eyes. Becky, the busty redhead at the makeup counter, was making eyes at him. The slacker tried to remember if he had already bagged that one or not. Regardless he was still interested.

Suddenly, the man felt something clammy and rotten in the box. He felt his blood run cold as he moved the packing peanuts.

“ _Not another peeeep, time to go to sleeeep.”_

Linda’s bloody and possessed head sang at him from the bottom of the box, cackling in between words. Ash screamed before casting the box of ceramic jack ‘o lantern trays to the ground.

Everyone looked on in horror and confusion. Luckily, no customers had been near and he walked away with being docked pay for the one dish that broke. He’d led a life of debauchery and no expectations for more than half a decade. There hadn’t been demonic interruptions until now.

But Ash didn’t want to get to the bottom of whatever this was. He wanted to firmly bury it back beneath the surface and ignore it. Like he had been.

So, after swiping Becky’s digits at the end of his three-hour shift, Ash traipsed out of the big box store and back to his trusty Delta. Twisting the key in the ignition, the retired deadite slayer took the long way back to his apartment.

He often wondered if it was time to pick up and head to the next place. As long as there was an S-Mart in the Lower Peninsula, he was set. Cranking up the radio, Ash tapped his fingers along the steering wheel. Seeing his building past the thicket of trees, nothing could’ve prepared him for the bloody figure that emerged out of the shrubbery. Feral and filthy, a woman wandered into the center of the road. The Delta screeched as it’s agitated driver slammed on the breaks.

The figure continued to stand there, and he waited for her to turn. He didn’t need this today, ever.

“You wanna dance, she-bitch?” Ash announced as he exited the vehicle. It was dusk and he’d learned that if it looked like a deadite, it was probably a deadite. Grabbing his shotgun from the backseat, he approached the figure.

“Sh-she bitch??” The woman stuttered, throwing her arms up surrender. “Listen, I’m just trying to get home.”

“Oh, yeah?” Growing more confident, he pushed his rifle square in her face, “Who’s to say you won’t attack me if I agree to give you a lift?”

Buffy rolled her eyes, growing tired with the machismo. Slapping the barrel away, she jumped when the idiot fired it off into the trees. There was a squawk followed by a light thud.

“Are you insane?” She screeched. Ash realized his mistake. This clearly was a human woman. An incredibly grimy and perturbed woman, but a human nonetheless. Her clear blue eyes shone beneath the dirt that matted her hair and skin. He couldn’t help but admire her tight jeans and low-cut t-shirt.

“No more than average, don’t you worry, sweet cheeks.”

“Where are we?” Buffy demanded, growing tired of the strangers antics. Not to mention the gnawing in the pit of her stomach that something was off.

“Outside of Grand Rapids.”

Her eyes grew wide in disbelief, with hints of hysteria.

“Michigan?”

“You look like you could use a beer and a hot shower.” Ash pointed with his metallic hand before stashing the boomstick safely behind his seat. “And it seems like you’ve been through the wringer, toots. So I won’t even ask to watch.”

Buffy knew it was a mistake to indulge anyone who accept a woman in her position into their car, but her options were dwindling. Sliding into the passenger seat, she attempted to steady herself with a deep breath.

It was surprisingly getting easier to breathe though her ankle still screamed in agony.

“Where’d you say you came from?” He pried a little too obviously.

“I didn’t.”

“C’mon. Don’t be like that.” A rough hand outstretched to squeeze a denim clad thigh. Buffy eyed him suspiciously, a viper preparing to strike. “You’re obviously in something pretty deep. Why don’t you tell your pal Ashy all about it.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did.” Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, trying to ignore the stranger hitting on her. “One minute I’m in a cabin in the middle of bum-fuck Tennessee and…”

The car swerved, veering towards the guard rail. The battered blonde took note of the man’s white knuckles on the steering wheel.

“Alright Mr. Swervy, you okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice was sharp as a cinder block building loomed closer in the distance. “Had a bad experience in a cabin out that way once. _Damn, Knowby’s…”_

Chewing the inside of her lip, the slayer felt the book begin buzz from inside her satchel. Not wanting to get into an accident. She waited until they were parked outside the handsome idiot’s building. Her baby blues briefly caught on a ‘Clinton/Gore’ campaign sign in the distance but it didn’t register.

“Well,” Ash threw his arm over the headrest, running a large hand through dark waves of hair, “How’s about we go inside and you all sorted out?”

Wrinkling her nose, Buffy ignored his ridiculous advances. Small hands dug into the bag.

“I have a question first.”

“Anything for you, babe.” A calloused hand went to grab a slim shoulder only to be caught in a vice like grip.

“Touch me again and I’ll jab Mr. Pointy into your jugular.” She threatened.

 _Mr. Pointy?_ Of course, Ashley J. Williams had no chance to process his confusion as the source of all his nightmares was promptly thrust into his chest.

“Jesus Christ, lady!” Comically wriggling away from the skin bound book, the man promptly flung it at the windshield. “What the hell are you doing with that?”

“Saving the world.” She said solemnly, “At least I was trying too. There were all these _ghouls_. I was about to die. Then this vortex thingy sucked me up and spit me out here.”

She procured her smartphone next, leaving Ash’s jaw firmly planted on the ground.

“Too bad it didn’t toss me anywhere I can actually get a signal.” Whipping around to find a good angle, the woman found nothing worked. Though Ash wasted little time stealing it out of her grasp.

“Hey!” She smacked his shoulder, “Give it back!”

Ash only held it higher, examining it like a cave man who just discovered fire. Barely moving the device it revealed a picture of the same blonde woman sandwiched between a redhead and man that looked like a squirrely version of himself.

‘September 21st, 2013’

The letters were too big to ignore.

“What year do you think it is?” He eyed her expectantly, not sure how she’d take the news. That damn book and all its ghoulish power was pure trash.

“Huh?” She screwed her face up. “What kinda question is that?”

“Listen, kid.” He started, pushing the device back at her muddy body.

“Buffy,” she corrected him with a snarl. This earned her an eyeroll.

“Fine, _Buffy._ I don’t think this really a matter of _where_ you are. It’s a matter of _when_ you are.”

It was then that all the signs began to add up: the outdated campaign signs, the fact that gas prices were barely a dollar, the couple of payphones she’d spotted on their trek to this chauvinist’s apartment. Her eyes grew comically wide.

“What you year is it?”

“1996.” Ash pushed a hand awkwardly through his hair. He’d remembered waking up in 1300 A.D. Lucky for the stranger in his car, she wasn’t marching to her execution. “Take it from me, it’s bound to scramble the old noggin a little bit.”

“The Hellmouth.” Her words were wispy, incredulous as the last 15 years of her life had effectively been erased. “How do I get home?”

“Click your heels together and pray to God that book of the dead evaporates when you do.” The man slid out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. Buffy was apprehensive to follow; but what choice did she have?

In one fluid movement, she watched him pull the ill-fitting S-Mart smock over his head, revealing a plain black t-shirt underneath. His arms were muscular and nicely tanned.

“Get a grip, Buff.” The blonde scolded herself before grabbing the ancient tome and scurrying out of the decrepit Delta to catch up with her unwilling host.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy seeks both solace and answers in her unlikely partner. Ash doesn't have either. A strange vision occurs.

“I don’t understand.” Buffy drummed her fingers against the top of the card table. Her ankle continued to ache beneath the bag of frozen peas that was unceremoniously tossed her way. The entire set up was that of a college kid. The only difference was – this man was closer to forty than he was twenty.

“It’s not that difficult,” Ash huffed impatiently from his seat at the table, his feet propped on the same chair as her elevated ankle. “You butchered the incantation and wound up in the past. I’ve been there.”

The blonde watched him suspiciously. He sucked the foam from a bottle of Budweiser craning his neck the slightest bit to catch the scores from the college game on the TV.

“Well, I didn’t tornado myself back seven hundred years.” She carefully examined the ancient tome, running her finger across the blood red ‘ink’. He whipped his head back, ready to zap her with a witty comeback when he caught her flipping through the pages of that wretched book.

Leaping up comically as the folding chair and beer were cast to the floor, the unhappy host swiftly grabbed the Necronomicon Ex Mortis by its rotten spine and chucked it against the nearest wall. The lump of dried skin squeaked on impact.

“You’re getting predictable.” Blue eyes narrowed as she watched Ash; his chest heaved rapidly before he dragged both of his large hands down his face.

“Are you out of your damn mind, blondie?”

“If that book got me into this mess,” she stood, ankle and ribs still aching, going to retrieve the evil artifact. It’s grotesque mouth snapped at her fingers upon contact. “It can get me out of it. Giles used to read ancient tomes all of the time. Including this one. I’ve even battled some Kandarian demons myself. Kicked them right in their grody butts.”

A sweet smile shone beneath ripe bruises and dried mud. Ash cast his dark eyes to the floor, both in confusion and brief streak of awkwardness. He brought pretty girls home quite a bit; none that were witty and wise. Not to mention outright adorable covered in muck.

 _But she’s also annoying. And annoyingly cute._ His subconscious settled the score before he fell completely under her feminine spell.

“Who the hell is Giles? And what were _you_ battling demons for? That’s my schtick, lady.”

“He was my…mentor.” Her voice grew heavy with emotion, those blue suede irises sweeping the pages of the book of the dead to subvert her mind. “It doesn’t much matter now. He’s gone. They all are. Me too.”

Her lip wobbled as she thought of the man who’d taught her everything she knew, how the blood bubbled out of his severed neck as he expired in her arms. How Wil and Xander were needlessly slaughtered in the crossfire to get to her watcher.

It was her fault they were all dead.

In that moment Ashley J. Williams felt himself soften. A woman out of time, alone after seeing everyone she’d ever cared about ripped away from her. Slowly, he knelt beside her. His armored hand settled on her knee with a creak.

“Listen, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid,” the blonde pouted, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

“What should I call you then?”

“Buffy?” she mumbled, confused as they had already introduced themselves earlier.

“Shit, that’s your actual name?” He scratched the back of his neck with his human hand. “I thought that was just some weird thing your girlfriends called you.”

“Is that really how you want to play it?” Those glassy eyes suddenly wide and full of vigor. “ _Ashley Joanna_?”

Drawing his head back comically, Buffy delighted in her handiwork. She could practically hear the gears grinding as he tried to conclude how she knew his full name.

“Relax,” she revealed a tattered TV Guide she’d hidden in under the evil book, “I found this when I sat down.”

Grabbing the magazine apprehensively, his dark doe-eyes studied his name and address. He wondered how long she’d been waiting to do that.

“Very funny.” He tossed the booklet aside before grabbing a fresh beer from the fridge and stalking back to the Michigan game. The Wolverine’s weren’t doing so hot, but he was resigned to watch them stumble about instead of participating in helping his new friend summon any hell spawn. Splaying himself across the sofa, Buffy limped closer to investigate.

“You go there?” She nodded at the TV. His eyes stayed glued to the domed screen. God, he didn’t want this all to come screaming back at him today. Or ever, for that fact.

“For a while.” He mumbled between sips of beer, “Never graduated.”

“Friends graduate from there?” She pried, wanting to know more about her sole contact in 1990’s Michigan. The blonde tried to ignore the dried blood and dirt she was covered in. Ash clenched his jaw.

Did she really want to do this? Dig into a past she didn’t know or understand? Sure, she was out of her element. But she was also the reason he could feel it all resurfacing, the reason Linda’s cackling head was in a box of seasonal wares that afternoon.

“You’re not the only one with dead friends, blondie. Why’d you go down to that damned cabin anyways?” His eyes met hers.

“Mending the apocalypse.” She shrugged. “Just an average Tuesday for the Slayer.”

“Slayer? Like the band?”

_What a moron._

“Yeah, I take Mr. Pointy and shred some wicked death metal for bozos to mosh to.” When she noticed a glaze over those dark eyes, she stomped over to her bag. Slowly marching back, she tossed the stake into his lap. “Vampires. They hiss and try to suck out the blood of innocents, I stab them and they sort of… _poof_.”

Ash gingerly examined the weapon. It was a nonsensical claim, but who was he to judge. His knight’s gauntlet rattled as he curled his fingers around the primitive weapon

“How’d the book get involved?”

“Some Kandarian demons made crawled through the Hellmouth. Like rodents sneaking through a crack in the wall. And then they in turn spawned an army of blood sucking freaks. I had to get back to the Knowby cabin, to where it all began. If it weren’t for that book, we’d all be dead. Well, at least in fifteen years from now.”

Everytime she opened her mouth, Ash had twelve more questions. How the hell did she know about the Knowby’s? And why couldn’t future him take care of the butt kicking? Was he that out of shape? Or dead?

“Listen,” Ash climbed to his bare feet, towering over the petite woman. He thrust the weapon into her chest, “We’re going to have to do some research. I’ll do my best to get you back to where-ever, but it’s going to take some time. Get comfy, I’ll see what I can do.”

They stood there for a moment. Her eyes lingered on the lines of his pecs beneath the shirt, dancing up to the chords of his thick neck, the hard edge of his jaw. Thankfully, she didn’t notice how his own gaze lingered on her breasts.

“Fine. In the meantime, I need a shower and a library card. For research purposes."

“I’d be happy to help with the shower, in more ways than one.” This earned him a sharp kick to the shin. Childish but effective. “Okay, suit yourself. Through that door. Clean towels on top of the laundry basket.”

With that, he was back on the sofa. She sighed, winding through the messy bedroom and into the equally unorganized bathroom.

Meanwhile, Ash mindlessly flipped through the TV channels. It was a distraction to get his mind off the hot blonde that was currently naked in his shower.

~~~~~

Hot water washed over every aching muscle, revealing an expanse of bruises and scrapes from underneath the dirt and debris. Tendrils of steam danced up the slayer’s nostrils as she took a deep breath. The rosy 2-in-1 shampoo body wash she found nearly empty on the floor of the tub was like an expensive elixir after being tossed back to the 1990’s covered in mud, blood, and guts/

Buffy considered asking Ash about why such a ‘macho man’ kept such feminine hygiene products around. But thought against it remembering the ridiculous amount of foil wrappers strewn about both bedroom and bath.

Shaking the thought, she wound her fingers through her hair. There were a plethora of knots the cheap shampoo hybrid was not prepared for, though the water was absolutely relieving after the day she’d been through.

The blonde couldn’t even begin to think about her next plan of action before a skull splitting migraine seared through her. Buffy hissed, grabbing the shower curtain for support.

There were flashes of fangs and rotten faces, a blue spiral and then blackness. There was little the woman could do as she blacked out, tangling herself in the curtain as she went.

~~~~~

“Yo, Buffy.” Ash snapped his fingers in front of her face. Her wet head still plastered against his pillow. “Vampire priestess or whatever, wakey wakey.”

It took the woman a moment before she began to stir, nose scrunching as she did. Popping one blue eye open, her face fell as soon as she saw her disturbance.

“Don’t look so happy to see me, ki-” a hand roughly struck his shoulder before he could even finish the word. “Ouch! Buffy, sorry. You should be a little nicer to the guy who peeled you off the bathroom floor.”

“What happened?” She whipped her head around only for the searing pain to return ten-fold.

“Don’t know,” The dark hair man scooched slightly closer to her on the bed, “Heard a thud and there you were. But don’t worry: I slipped you into some clothes really quick. Y’know, to save your modesty.

The blonde ignored that last part, as much as she tried to ignore the Def Leppard t-shirt and boxer shorts that hung unceremoniously off her body. Pulling the heavy duvet up to her chin, she fell back onto the bed.

“You don’t seem like the type of girl who’d end up in a strange man’s bed hours after meeting him.” This one earned him a venomous stare.

“I was just washing my hair,” she began.

“Think you could slow it down and sex it up a bit? Oww, stop doing that!” He whined when she kicked him in the thigh.

“All of a sudden I started having like a _vision_ of these demons. They were telling me to surrender my soul.”

“Sounds like a bunch of no good deadites to me.”

Buffy mulled this over, jaw setting as she thought. Ash smirked the smallest bit, delighting in the fact that this mysterious ass-kicker was bundled up in his bed.

“I’m gonna need some new clothes.” She chewed her lip.

“Listen, blondie. I’m here to help but I’m not rolling in it nearly enough to send you on a shopping spree.”

“I have cash.” She yawned, stretching out against the pillow.

“Who the hell brings cash with them to fight demons during the apocalypse?”

“The woman who emptied her savings account before she went a on a road trip from California to the Smokies. The only thing is, it’s all printed from a year that hasn’t happened yet.”

“No one gives a damn about serial numbers, if that’s what you’re getting at. I can pick you up a few things tomorrow after my shift if you want me to.”

“ _You_ want to buy clothes for _me_?”

“Unless you want wear a muddy tank top or my underwear out, we don’t have a lot of options.” Ignoring the fact that she was literally wearing his boxers, the slayer offered a grateful grin. “Besides, the ladies section is the perfect place to pick up chicks.”

And then he ruined it, like he repeatedly did for their incredibly short relationship. But Buffy Summers had very few options – Ash Williams was it. Sharing a quiet moment, he gently smacked her feet before standing up.

“Get some sleep, kid. You’ve had a rough day.”

“But -” she began to protest, only to be promptly cut off.

“Don’t worry. There’ll still be a mess to clean up tomorrow morning.”

With the flick of a switch, he’d left her in the dark to mull over her distressing predicament.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash and Buffy both call in favors.

It was nearly eleven when Ash woke. Still sprawled on the couch in his clothes from the night before, he wasn’t even shocked to find a half empty can of beer in his hand. The day before had been draining to say the least.

Speaking of draining, he brought the can to his lips. The beer was flat and tepid, but he refused to waste a drop. Standing, he felt his joints crack and snap.

He ignored it. Maybe it was a sign of being stagnantly still for a sleep cycle; or maybe he was showing his age. But that wasn't important. Tossing the now empty can to the floor, he caught something far too familiar in his peripheral.

That _damn_ book. Blondie had left it on his table, where he ate and occasionally bent a woman over. That was a sacred place, cheap card table or not. Inching closer, he stared at the mass of dried flesh. It’s gaping maw glowed amber, the light getting stronger with every step he took.

” _Ashhh…”_

His heart pounded against his ribs, teeth digging into his gums as that demonic entity taunted him. The plan was to grab it with his gauntlet, the creaky metal unfeeling and strong. But that was still to close for comfort. Why couldn't he meet a pretty girl that read Danielle Steele?

Eyes darting to the edge of the small kitchenette, he dashed to the utensils drawer. They _had_ to be in there. Scrambling through the mess was more of a task than he had originally thought. One by one, he tossed each item aside.

“Spatula? No. Rolling pin? No. Tenderizer?” Weighing the blunt object in his hand, Ash briefly considered beating the shit out of the devil book until it bled. He thought against it, chucking it to the ground with a thud.

But at the very bottom of the seemingly endless drawer was what he sought: a pair of tongs. He wrapped his bulky, metallic fingers around the instrument. Edging near the Necronomicon, he slowly bit into the gnarled flesh with the instrument.

The sensation was repulsive, Ash crinkling his nose as the book’s rotting façade softened under the tool. It was surely messing with him as the object oozed an orange pus. He comically sprinted to the far side of the room. Shoving his clothes and empty beer cans off the top of a green army trunk, he flipped the lid and dropped the book inside.

He quickly closed the lid and snapped the latch. The block letters printed onto the army green pseudo leather haunted him more. The name _Brock Williams_ sent a shiver down his spine. Instead of opening _that_ can of worms, Ash threw all the heavy garbage he could find on top of the casing: The Yellow Pages, a stack of old porno mags, an unopened case of Old Milwaukee, and a twenty-pound dumbbell. 

With that temporarily taken care of the, the man mulled over his next problem: the blonde currently asleep in his bed. His eyes snagged on the analog clock as its numbers slowly inched along.

_11:20 AM_

There was no way he was going to make his shift at noon. And his manager was itching for an excuse to sending him packing. Plopping on the couch, he swiftly plucked the phone from it’s cradle and dialed the one person who could cover his ass.

“Hey Chet, it’s Ash.” He ignored the fact that his buddy sounded groggy and hungover “Can you cover for me today at noon? I know it’s last minute, but if you do me this solid, I’ll buy your drinks at the titty bar for a month?”

~~~~~

Fingers of sunlight danced through the venetian blinds, covering Buffy with golden stripes. Of course, she had been roused by the rustling of her host. She toed the line of sleep and lucidity, fighting the latter. Her frame ached as the bruises set, her psyche groggy.

The bedroom door swung open, Ash assuming his guest was still asleep. She couldn’t fault him for that; but she could fault the apartment for have only one bathroom through the bedroom. She was no architect but it seemed like an oversight. When her eyes fluttered open once more, he swam into her vision.

Sans shirt.

He was lean, tan skin nicely toned, a smattering of dark hair across his chest ending in a tapered path disappearing into his jeans. Then the dungarees were gone too, giving her a peek of his behind beneath the clinging fabric of his briefs.

Blue eyes lingered a long time, only closing when he turned to examine the sleeping beauty in his bed. Assuring she was still alive and breathing. Carefully, a rough hand reached out to stroke her bruised temple.

Buffy’s own hand darted from beneath the covers, catching his wrist in a vice like grip. A pale eyelid snapped open, one glassy eye meeting the dark leather ones that watched her in amusement. A wavy strand of dark hair fell in his face.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you don’t need to touch me to do it.” She warned, loosening her palm the slightest when he hissed in pain.

“Nothing to get your panties in a knot about, Buff.” Ash blew the black curl from his brow, pulling his wrist from her grip. “I was just checking the nasty lump on your noggin. Didn’t notice it yesterday.”

He rubbed the bone at the apex of his arm gingerly. Well, as gingerly as one could with a bulky pseudo appendage. For someone with such scrawny hands, she had a lot of power; it was quite the juxtaposition to watch her run that same finger gently across the red knot at her hairline.

“Fuck.” Her voice was a whisper, “It must’ve been when I flew through the windshield on the way to the Knowby cabin. I thought my injuries subsided when I restored everything.”

None of it made any sense, especially now that she felt the bruise on her ribs blossoming again.

“How do you know that name?” Ash sat on the edge of the bed, scratching the back of his neck with his good hand. “The Knowby’s?”

Still cocooned in the duvet, she receded further into the blanket. If he didn’t know better, Ash would’ve called said she looked like a snapping turtle. That would most likely end poorly.

“Are really trying to talk shop with while wearing nothing but your undies?” Her eyes ran down to his groin, the blush across her nose giving her away.

“Are we bashful, after sleeping in a stranger’s bed?” He pushed her, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

“By myself. And fully clothed.” She added, eager to wound his ego.

“Touché.” He jumped to his feet, striding to the bathroom. Buffy couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his back glide. “I’m gonna clean up then we can take care of getting you clothes and going to the library business. Unless…”

“I’m not into that conserving water bull, if that’s what you’re getting at. Don't you have to work?” 

"Don't worry your pretty little head; I got a friend to cover for me. I'm all yours, babe." He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows waggling.

"Lucky me." This earned her a wolfish grin followed by the slam of the door.

Mulling over the situation, the blonde sat up in bed. Cradling her head desperately, she wasn’t sure what her next step was. But one word stuck in her head.

_Library._

Then she was sprinting to the other room, ignoring the mess of laundry and discarded chip bags on the carpet, zeroing in on the landline.

Tacking on a ‘1’, she dialed a number that would be etched into her brain for all eternity.

~~~~~

It had felt like a nightmare, one that Rupert Giles wished would end.

Dying had never occurred to him, even though he’d had several close calls before. Bleeding out in the arms of the only daughter he never had wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

Well, maybe back in his _Ripper_ days that specific end would earn a scoff. But now he’d rather only pass away comfortably in his own bed, at a ripe eighty-five. Drowning in a puddle of your own blood as you gasped for air was as painful as it was unpleasant.

The realization that he was in his bed, bending his own fingers, breathing fresh air was enough confirmation that she did it. Buffy reversed it.

That meant Willow and Xander were likely restored as well. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the aged librarian reached for his cell phone. Instead, he knocked over a glass of water where the electronic block should’ve been.

“What in the devil?” A tinny plastic ringing began before he could even investigate. A noise that should’ve been an impossible, from a phone that he ditched nearly a decade ago in preference for a wireless one.

Bile crept up his throat as he silently cursed ‘Ruby Knowby’ and all affiliations he’d ever had with the demon. This blasted situation was her fault, after all.

“This is Rupert.” His voice was still heavy with sleep when he plucked the receiver from it’s cradle.

“Thank God, you’re alive.” Tears pricked the corners of his eyes when that familiar voice graced his ears.

“B-buffy? Is that really you?”

“Now’s not the time to get weepy.” She demanded though her own voice wavered as she spoke. “I read the incantation and restored the everything. And then I got spit out in 1990s Michigan. Help me.”

“Well, I can’t tell you how good it is to hear your voice.”

“Same. I’m glad you’re alive. But I need your help. I think this Knowby lady might be the root of our troubles. Know any way find her?”

“Kanderian demons can usually be summoned. But she might be on her way to find you as we speak. Do you still have the Necronomicon Ex Mortis?”

“…Unfortunately. My new roomie isn’t crazy about it either.” Swinging his bed over the side of the bed, Giles stared at the calendar on his wall; it was a gift that Jenny had gotten him for his birthday. Every month featured a different cat dressed as a librarian. How he missed the simpler year of 1996. “Hello, Earth to Giles?”

“I’m sorry, Buffy. Come again?”

“There’s this guy I’m staying with, Ashley Williams. He’s had a run in with the book before, I’m at his place.”

“I know I’m not your father, but do you really think it’s wise to…”

“Eww, no. We just met and he's total pig. But I can't exactly be picky about my allies right now, can I?"

“I might be able to make it out there. I have approximately one year before I meet you, not mention a bit of vacation time I can use.”

“You’d really do that for me?” Her voice a faint whisper, though the words were heavy on his soul.

“I don’t think you realized all the hell I’d go through for you…again. I’m going to gather some essentials and see if I can fly out tomorrow. Do you know where in Michigan you are?”

“Outside of Grand Rapids, or so I’ve been told.”

“Sit tight and try not to get into to any trouble. Oh, Buffy?”

“Hmmm?”

“Clock Ashley in the jaw if he gets fresh with you.” He could practically feel her roll her eyes, shrugging her shoulders childishly.

“Yes, _dad_.” After that, the dial tone was all he heard.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unlikely duo head out to grab Buffy some suitable clothing. Angst occurs. A long dormant demonic entity awakens, ready to settle some unfinished business with a certain watcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the positive feedback! Y'all are too kind! I'll try to get better at responding to comments; I'm just awkward and don't always know what to say but know that I'm eternally grateful for every kudos and comment!
> 
> As for the story, this story is a very AU in case you haven't noticed. Allegria is also referring to Ruby. Since "Ruby's" demonic name is never given, we're going with this. The fact that it is the Italian word for 'cheerful' is complete happenstance. 
> 
> Thanks for taking this ride with me and please enjoy the awkward sexual tension in this chapter!

The afternoon sun beat through the windshield, the faded blue strip tinting the top half of a porcelain face. Buffy sat in the passenger seat, the belt securely fastened across her lap. Ash watched her out of the corner of his eye, drowning in an Alice Cooper t-shirt and pair of sweats that were laying on the bedroom floor.

“Safety a big thing in the future?” His query earned him a snort. “What’s so funny?”

“Sometimes I wonder how anyone born before 1970 lived to see thirty years old.”

The man pushed a hand through his hair, ruffling a few locks loose. Reaching over her knees, he pulled the glove box open. A Ziploc of joints lay there. The Delta weaved on the country road as he struggled to procure one from the baggy before roughly pushing in the console lighter.

“Why do you say that?” He scrunched his brow, shooting her a knowing look. Then something happened, something equal parts magic and unexpected. Pouty lips spread in a genuine smile, followed by a sweet giggle.

Ash felt his heart thud at the sound. It had been a long time since he’d made someone laugh in earnest. It reminded him of Linda, of a life long gone. Then a pang ripped through his chest and he swallowed down the thought.

If he got close to Buffy, she’d end up possessed and dismembered, ghoulish head cackling as he sobbed in fear.

“No reason,” She mumbled, shielding the sun from her face with an open palm. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Grand Rapids. They have a mall there, we can get you a wardrobe.”

“A mall?” Suede blue eyes blinked in his direction. Crystal clear. When he turned her direction, the man couldn’t tell if it was the bright sun or the electric stare that made him turn back to the road.

“There’s a hunting store, too.” He continued, grabbing the lighter and clumsily pressing the joint against the orange embers. “Place has got rifles and crossbows. Might come in handy if we’re dealing with what I think we’re dealing with.”

“Did you say crossbows?” The blonde looked younger, excited bright eyes momentarily washing away the cynicism. A stray curl fell into his face when Ash turned a sharp jaw in her direction. The joint dangled from his lips, as casual as a cigarette.

“Pretty girls like shooting arrows out in California?”

“I can’t speak for every woman on the coast, but I do. I’m good at it.”

“Bet you are.” He paused, “There’s a box of cassette tapes beneath the seat if you want any jams for the road.”

“Mixed tapes?” She scrunched her nose, bending over to dig for the box.

“Made by yours truly.” He winked, swinging a right where a sign read ‘Grand Rapids 10 Miles’. Buffy dug through the shoebox, attempting to find something she’d enjoy. Nothing was easy to decipher, titles like “ _Ass Kicking Tunes #1”_ and “ _Songs to Bone To”_ offering her little help.

But one stuck out from the rest, simply titled _For Linda_. The woman was drawn to it, the only tape that seemed genuine. Maybe she shouldn’t have selected it, but she did regardless. The player devoured the little white rectangle, crackling to life.

Ash hissed in a sharp breath as the opening notes to Fleetwood Mac’s _Over My Head_ began, immediately knowing his guest’s choice. It had been one of Linda’s favorite’s, one she’d hummed when ever she was baking or reading a book.

Something that haunted his dreams, when she was curled against him like a vapor.

It opened a wound that had never completely healed, one that never would. He should’ve pitched the damn thing when he had the chance, but it never mattered how far he ran. The past would always find him, haunt him like a ghost. Because there were some things a man couldn’t escape.

Fate was high on the list.

~~~~~

The soil in the Ozarks was thick and stony. At least, that was what Allegria thought as she opened her black eyes. Soil pressed against the irises, making her glad she couldn’t feel it. The Ancient One groaned, chunks of Earth falling into her gullet.

She sucked in every granule as though it were air.

Rising from the dead got old after a while. Equipping long bird like talons, she pushed an open palm upward. A pale and veiny hand broke the surface as the demon pulled herself from the ground. Her body was sheathed in the trench coat and corduroy pants she’d been sporting when the spell had been cast.

Except the garments were withered and mud stained. 

Neck bent at an odd angle, she planted a firm hand on either side of her head. Breaking it back into place made a sickening crack, echoing through the trees.

Crows cawed into the night before flying across the sky in a massive flock. Black, inky clouds smothered the full moon with its long fingers.

A wry grin danced on grey lips as the entity slowly felt her strength flood back into her being. Something had woken her from that ghastly dormant state. Someone had spoken the words she wrote in what seemed like worlds ago.

The evil that her own enemies had cast on the planet was lifted, allowing her to perpetuate her own wickedness on this doomed universe.

Standing, she spun in a slow and steady circle. Her location appeared to be in the depths of the mountains as every plane ended in a steep drop-off, dotted by the jagged spears of fir trees. Lightning suddenly struck, setting one of those green points ablaze.

With a low rumble followed by another flash of light, a heavy rain poured down upon the Earth. Laughing into the dark, Allegria knew who she had to find.

“I’m coming for you, Ripper.” She snarled into the dark abyss before being enveloping by a thick plume of dark smoke.

The demon would search for the watcher. And she would tear him apart herself.

~~~~~

Ash kept his head down, hands stuffed into his stone washed jacket as he waited for Buffy to finish trying on the seemingly endless slew of ensembles. It had been easy to sneak him to the changing room as it was a weekday afternoon and the Penny’s they’d selected was a ghost town.

Resting his head against the wall, his dark eyes found a familiar mug in the full mirror beside him. He’d seen a lot in his thirty-eight years, more than most people saw their whole life.

And other a than few scars, his visage wreaked of fatigue. Deep purple half moons perpetually stained the skin beneath his eyes, his shoulders always hanging low.

Looking away from his reflection, he turned to the changing stall. Catching a sliver of milky skin from the edge of the curtain sent a jolt through him. Long golden curls fell down the Buffy’s bare back as she peeled of her bra. Kicking down his sweats revealed the ample curve of her bottom, accentuated by two prominent dimples on her lower back.

Sitting up, he tried to get a better look as she pulled on a purple brassiere and a pair of jersey knit panties from a pack. She was a pretty thing, one he wanted to pounce on.

“How’s it coming in there, blondie?” He forced his vision elsewhere, resting his elbows on his knees. His thoughts drifted to baseball stats and chess games. Anything to make his thoughts less clouded/

“Almost done, _Ashley_.” She sang out, shimmying into a pair of jeans as she did. He hopped to his booted feet, stopping at the barrier of the curtain.

“Sure you don’t need a hand?” He twisted the gauntlet with a metallic clank. A cherubic face poked out from the seam of the fabric. She smiled brightly at him, her bubbliness showing through the red bruises.

“Try ‘helping’ me and you’ll need another prosthetic.” Cheerily ducking back in, Ash smirked. Walking in a small circle, he tried to snap him out of the reverie. Was he smitten? With a woman he met yesterday? From a year that hadn’t yet happened?

There wasn’t much time to give it a second thought before an older clerk rounded the corner of the room with an empty rack. Gasping at the sight of him, she straightened up and gave him a stern look.

“Sir, this is the _ladies_ changing room.” The frail woman was absolutely scandalized readjusting wire framed glasses on her thin nose. His dark eyes grew comically wide as he processed the accusation.

“Oh, no,” He waved his arms comically, pointing to the only occupied stall, “My, uh, girlfriend is trying on some outfits. She just wanted a second opinion.”

“ _Sir_ ,” the woman’s eyebrows disappeared into a cloud of silver curls, “This is a department store. Not one of those dicey ‘massage parlours’. I suggest you leave at once or I’ll be forced to call the-”

“Honey,” Buffy slid the curtain back, marching into view of the saleswoman, “What’s going on out here?”

Ash would’ve given her an answer if she hadn’t left his jaw on the floor. Wearing a pair of high waisted jeans, a red v-neck tee, and black lace up boots had been enough to leave him speechless. The ensemble was simple but effective.

A slender thumb and forefinger gently pushed his gaping maw shut.

“I apologize about him,” she wrung her hands, turning to the old woman, “I asked for the company. I hope that’s okay.”

“He’ll have to wait outside until you’re finished, I’m afraid. Shall you be wearing that out, dear?”

“That’d be great.” Buffy grinned. “I just have to gather my things and I’ll be up to the counter.”

“Take your time and put whatever you don’t need on the cart here.” The woman offered her a motherly smile before glaring at Ash and sashaying away.

“Thanks for that.” He looked up at her from beneath a heavy brow. She smirked, popping off the tags and searching for ink devices on the clothing she wore.

“You were drowning. It’d be rude not to throw you a…floaty thing.”

“Life preserver?” He offered.

“Don’t get cocky. An old woman almost called the cops on you for being a creep.”

There was a long silence followed by a raucous bout of laughter from both parties. Neither dared to look at the other when the giggles died down.

“I better hightail it out there before Grandma Moses gets an APB put out on my ass.” The blonde smiled grabbing a pile of clothing from inside the stall, plopping the mess on a bench in the open.

“Try not to get into too much trouble. I’ll only be a minute.” The man nodded, turning on his heel. “Hey Ash.”

“Yeah?” He spun to find Buffy’s back to him. The lights flickered as the rotting face of a Deadite rounded on him.

“You can’t run forever, Williams.” The mottled mask enveloped the cute face of the slayer, crystal blue eyes replaced with milky white. She pounced, pinning him against the drywall by the neck. Pointed claws bit into his skin. “We’ll find you and we’ll kill you. Like we did to Cheryl. And Linda.”

Possessed Buffy slammed his head into the wall before digging razor like teeth into her own rotting lips, releasing an ooze of purple blood. And then it ended as quickly as it began. The woman blinked, pulling her hand away from the thick cords of his throat.

“What the hell? Are you alright?” Though Ash had no time to respond before she was doubled over in pain, hissing and pressing a palm to her temple. “Fuck. Make it stop.”

Saying nothing, he pulled the woman against his chest to support her trembling form. Stroking her hair, she clutched the flannel he wore desperately, popping open a few more buttons.

It wasn’t as long an episode as the one that Buffy had in the shower, but it was far more powerful and painful. Images flashed in her mind; a bunch of college kids in a cabin, the roots of tree snaking up a woman’s leg, another woman’s bodiless head cackling in a vice, the rev of a chainsaw, the smell of gasoline mingled with blood.

Most terrifying was a woman in a long robe, pushing her hood back to empty eye sockets as she laughed into a field of flames.

Then she stopped shaking, looking up at Ash with glassy eyes. She hadn’t even notice her face brush against a patch of newly exposed chest hair.

“Who’s Cheryl?”

“What?” He hadn’t heard his sister’s name in a long time, nor did he want to.

“The entity,” Buffy pushed away from him gently, gathering the clothing she intended to purchase in her arms. They both strode back into the store, ignoring the elderly saleswoman. “She spoke a string of words in Latin. And it ended ‘By the scorn of Allegria, Ash will burn with Cheryl in Hell for an eternity. And Ripper will suffer for his sins.’ Who’s Cheryl?”

“Out of ‘Allegria’ and ‘Ripper’, ‘Cheryl’s the one that sticks with you?” They both kept their lips spread in fake smiles, voices low as they continued to the cash register.

“I know who Ripper’s referring too while Allegria sounds pretty demonic to me. But Cheryl is-”

“Not someone we’re discussing right now.” He added firmly, “I might know someone who can sort out this demon business. Who’s Ripper?”

“Giles.” She said nonchalantly, dropping the pile of clothes and lone tags in front of the non-plussed shopgirl.

“The guy you’re flying in goes by ‘Ripper’? And you weren’t going to mention that?”

“It’s a long story.” She waved him off, eyeballing the young woman who scanned the endless ball of garments. He nodded, taking the hint.

“Right. While you’re doing that, I’m heading out to the payphone.”

“You can use my cellph…” Her voice trailed off in realization, the girl giving her an odd look. “That sounds good. And Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“You might want to button up.” He looked down, not realized that his chest was half exposed. Feeling a heat rise up his neck, he hurriedly redid the buttons before he gave Sophia Petrillo another reason to call the police.

But he still noticed Buffy’s pink cheeks when he caught her staring. Head snapping back to the giggling cashier, he felt something familiar and dreaded swell deep inside of him.

Smacking her gently on the back, Ash Williams grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. Swallowing down whatever she stirred in him, he booked it outside. They didn’t have a lot of options. Looking at the faded business card, he hoped his buddy at the occult bookshop was still in business.

And still alive for that fact.


End file.
